40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,66

in every moment of that shower, her second of the day, this one ice-cold and meant to sluice away the sweat of hours and hours spent in Satan’s jockstrap. Otherwise known as the Gulf Coast of Florida in August.

Somehow, though, she was still sweating. She figured it was carryover heat at work, like when the temperature of her Thanksgiving turkey kept rising for a while even after it emerged from the oven. Or maybe it was simply Belle’s curse in effect already. Hard to say, really.

Which was why, once again, she was only barely restraining herself from asking Lucas what unholy impulse had made him look at heated booties and think, “Yes, if there’s one thing Tess needs right now, it’s hot feet.”

Still, the booties were a sweet—if decidedly odd—gift. One she might be able to use in, say, three or four months. Assuming she ever cooled off again.

“I’m sure these will be very effective at keeping my feet toasty.” She reread the label. What exactly did edelweiss smell like, anyway? “Thank you again.”

He blinked innocently at her. “Why don’t you try them on?”

Fuck, no.

“Uh…” She hesitated, searching for a courteous way to refuse.

Which was when he started laughing. Loudly.

“Th-the look on your face,” he choked out. “Oh, God, Tess, it’s amazing.”

He was fucking with her. Again. But how?

“Are these…” She poked the booties with her forefinger. “Are these not a gift?”

“They are.” He managed to pull himself together after one last snort. “But they’re not for your feet.”

She glanced down at herself. There were four booties. Was she supposed to have one on each boob and the others on her hands? Or—

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you when you’re not feeling well.” His arm circled her shoulders, and he gently tugged her close and kissed the top of her head. “Wow, you’re kind of sweaty.”

“Which is only one of many reasons you’re not getting another hug or kiss from me anytime soon.” She pulled away and narrowed her eyes at him. “Explain my sudden bounty of fuzzy booties, Karlsson.”

His smile was soft. Affectionate. “You asked me if I had a heating pad, älskling. This was the closest thing I could find on short notice.”

All at once, the Mystery of the Unseasonable Booties was solved, and in the sweetest way she could have imagined.

Yeah, he’d been fucking with her. But only after venturing into that weird Alpine spa and locating the nearest equivalent to a heating pad on the island. And he’d done all that sometime during a full day of lessons. Because she had her period and was hurting, and he wanted to help.

All was forgiven.

More than forgiven, actually. So much more than forgiven, she turned her face away from him for a moment.

“Thank you,” she told the back cushion on his couch, swallowing past the thickness in her throat. “This time, I really mean it.”

His knuckles stroked her cheek, but he didn’t urge her to look at him. Instead, he gave her time to regain her composure in semi-privacy. “You’re welcome.”

This surge of emotion in her chest hurt her. Frightened her. But maybe it was her hormones rioting, another transient inconvenience imposed by her menstrual cycle, rather than something meaningful enough to last beyond this hiatus from daily reality. Maybe the barriers around her heart weren’t eroding beneath the steady tide of his attention.

Maybe she could still escape this interlude unscathed.

As a former teacher and current assistant principal, she knew bullshit when she heard it. Even in her own thoughts. She might as well be a student explaining how word-for-word transcriptions from Wikipedia weren’t really plagiarism.

Unlike with her students, however, she was letting the bullshit stand. At least for now.

A few deep breaths, and she’d gotten herself somewhat together. When she finally faced Lucas again, she offered a wobbly curve of her lips. “So what are our revised plans for tonight?”

“Well…” The pad of his thumb lightly skimmed her cheek. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“A lot of things.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Did you have dessert with dinner? If you didn’t, I might or might not have convinced the pastry chef at The Sands to let me have a lemon chess meringue pie today. Or if you’d prefer dessert in mountain-shaped-chocolate-bar form instead, I have that too.”

He’d remembered the pie. Not only remembered, but taken action to get her what she wanted. Interrupted an already very-busy day in yet another way, all on her behalf. Considered the likelihood that she might want chocolate, given her hormonal state. Further indicated